


Play the Game

by DavyJoans93



Category: Real life - Fandom
Genre: Bi, Gay, LGBT, Lesbian, Real Life, Social Issues, Trans, my story, the truth, trans guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DavyJoans93/pseuds/DavyJoans93
Summary: I needed somewhere to post this. This is all true. Do what you will. I'm a trans guy and this is my recent story.





	Play the Game

**Author's Note:**

> *All names have been changed to protect their identities in this story.  
> *Also, my family is not a bad family. They're actually wonderful. They're just very religious, and I needed to post the truth from my perspective somewhere.

**1 – The Rules**

**Rule 1: Protect the Secret.** You know the Secret. You blew it already once before, but you know better this time. You found a way out but kept the Secret nonetheless. It’s quite explosive, as we found out, but you know it’s doable to keep this one close to home. Guard it with your life.

 **Rule 2: Step Lightly.** You seriously fucked up last time. You don’t know how much information they have on you this time. How much they know about the Secret. Caution is key to winning this game. Hold all your cards as close to your chest as possible until the time is right. If someone or something threatens to expose the Secret before the appropriate time, eliminate it from the game however you best see fit.

 **Rule 3: Trust No One.** Last time, trust is what got you into the mess in the first place. Certain groups and people can handle the Secret, but don’t trust them to keep it. That’s your job. The more people that know, the more difficult the Game is going to be. You’re not being paranoid, you’re being safe.

 **Rule 4: Be the Wild Card.** Always make sure you know more about the situation than they might. Use the gathered information to throw them off the scent if they get too close or start asking questions about the Secret.

 **Rule 5: Lie.** Conscience be damned these days. You saw what happened before you were able to do damage control. Don’t ever let it get to that point again. Say whatever you can to deflect suspicion. And, remember: the best lies always hold a hint of truth.

 **Rule 6: Play the Game.** The Game is ever-evolving. You set some terms, they set others. Remember to remain flexible and learn as you go. When in doubt, don’t say anything and just go with it. Stay on your toes because they will change the rules at the drop of a hat. Deep breaths. Stay aware. You’ll be fine. You’re a chameleon like none other. Just don’t get cocky.

**2 – PreGame**

You may be wondering what the hell all of that was, and I promise you’ll figure it all out in due time. But, first, I’m going to set the scene for our Game.

In October 2012, I was a sophomore in college at Appalachian State University in Boone, North Carolina. During this time, I was seeing a therapist – a Christian therapist per the request of my parents – for depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I’d dealt with these on my own since my freshman year of high school but told my parents for the first time about it earlier that semester.

Naturally, they were horrified.

And, like any good parent, they urged me to seek help. I told them I was going to go to the school’s counseling center, but they wanted me to get helped that “aligned with the family’s values.” Being a desperate 19-year-old, I agreed.

What they didn’t know at the beginning of these therapy sessions was why I wanted to talk to someone. You see, a year prior, I came to a then-horrifying realization. One that shattered the Earth beneath my feet. It legitimately felt like my world had ended.

I was gay.

Now, in this day and age, you’d think that this wasn’t such a bad thing to find out about myself – a white female-presenting individual in America. But, when you’re a white, female-presenting individual that grew up in a highly religious family in America, it’s the worst thing you could find out about yourself.

I’d spent years shoving down feelings and arguing with my friends or other kids in my high school that being gay wasn’t natural. That it wasn’t okay. That you couldn’t be a Christian and have any kind of support for the LGBTQIA+ community. God wants you to repent, take up your Cross, deny your sin, and follow Him. Didn’t He?

Then, boom, Cosmic Joke on me: “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

I remember the second the realization hit me like a tidal wave of icy water compressing my chest. The instant numbness. There was a girl, Morgan*, who I had two classes with. Fiery red hair, funny, wild – my polar opposite. She was perfect. I didn’t understand why I felt so drawn to her at first. I thought that I wanted to be her friend. Seeking acceptance from someone so… alive?

Morgan came in to our Mediterranean History class still completely smashed from the night before, stuck a sticker on my forehead, and then amused herself throughout class. Later that afternoon, we had Archaeology together. We sat next to each other every single class since we didn’t know anyone else. That day was no exception.

It ended up being a movie day in class where we were supposed to watch a film about a dig in Africa and take notes. Simple enough. The classroom was dark. It all started out fine and dandy. I was in the middle of taking notes when I looked over to see Morgan out cold – the hangover finally settling in – and it hit me. In the dark, just staring at her for no reason, I had to stop myself from leaning over and kissing her. The impulse to lean over quickly and gently press my lips to hers was nearly impossible to resist.

Morgan, if you’re reading this, I know that is very creepy. I am so sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to be, and it certainly wasn’t in my plans to ever feel that way towards you – in that moment or every one after that for almost a year.

I sat frozen in my chair for the rest of the film, not even daring to move a muscle. I couldn’t breathe. What the flying fuck was _that_?

I walked slowly back to my dorm alone. It wasn’t until I was nearly back to my dorm on East campus behind the English building that the icy waters resumed their crashing, sinking me lower into the numbness.

God hates me.

Some of you may have just rolled your eyes at that, and I can understand why. But you need to understand just _how_ religious I was raised. I grew up going to church from the day I was born. Both of my parents came from strongly Christian families. Their belief, though tested regularly, was unwavering. God was real. God was good. God did not make mistakes. His Word, the Bible, was Truth and Law. No one in my family questioned that.

Period.

I mean, you were welcome to have doubts. God is bigger than your doubts. Doubt is what ends up making your faith stronger. I went to church every Sunday. I went to Vacation Bible School. I went to church camp. I was an active participant in the Youth Group. I went to Bible studies with girls my own age taught by leading women in the fellowship.

God was God, and I _bathed_ in that Kool-Aid.

After years of hearing how things like pre-martial sex and homosexuality are heinous sins to commit, my world shattered as the realization set in.

I was attracted to girls.

So many things made sense now – my draw to an older girl named Lucy my freshman year of high school, playing doctor with girls and never boys as a kid, and so many other instances. But things making sense didn’t make anything easier, and it certainly didn’t make me feel any better.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? God hates the sin of homosexuality. Am I gay? I’d dated two guys, but we’d never slept together because of the abstinence thing my church had stressed so much. Plus, I’d never really wanted to with either of them. Maybe that made me bi?

That experience led to quite the up-and-down ride with a male leader from the Baptist College Ministry working with me to pray it away, many rounds with depression and anxiety, the beginnings of the loss of my religion, and my first year of undergrad classes sprinkled in there for good measure. I spent the summer working with my missionary cousins in Brazil where I’d resolved before I left to plead with God to make it all go away. To explain why I was made like this. To try and work things out in my head.

All it really managed to do was make the world a much darker place and to draw me back to the edge of ending it all. I hadn’t been there since high school. I’d thought I was past it, to be honest.

Which brings us back to where we started in October 2012 right after a particularly rough therapy session with my counselor. According to her, I had to tell my parents about my sexuality. I couldn’t do the “surprise” method of just showing up with a girlfriend. I had to tell them.

That was the worst phone call of my life.

My mom sobbed the entire time. I sobbed the entire time. My poor roommate, Naomi, sat awkwardly at her desk with her headphones in trying to give us some privacy while also providing moral support. Five days later, my parents came up to Boone to pick me up for fall break and to have a group therapy session with me and the Christian therapist.

What I actually mean is, we all went into her office, my parents yelled, I got to see my Dad cry for the first time in my life and it was my fault, and I sat there quietly with no real way to defend or explain myself. They kept repeating to themselves that they were failures as parents. But they didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, this had absolutely nothing to do with them.

Nothing was resolved, and I stopped going to therapy. Dad said it was a sham. Mom just cried. No one would look at me. But more on that later.

That was the moment I started learning The Game.

**3 – Welcome to The Game**

It started with small rules at first. Don’t say anything. Just take it when they burst into tears or yelled angrily at you about how could you do this to them and the family. You’re wrong even though you know you aren’t. Just go with it. Shove down the feelings and what you want to say – they aren’t going to believe you anyway. Be unreadable.

I’ve always been a quick learner. I started to pick up little ways to be complacent to their portion of the rules in The Game. Things like wearing very feminine clothing while at home, hide any rainbow thing you own, Incognito mode is mandatory for web browsers (this later turned into using Incognito mode and public Wi-Fi rather than Wi-Fi at home to look up anything LGBT related or Tumblr), or assume _everyone_ is listening.

I know this sounds like the beginnings of paranoia. But you have to understand; I had to figure out how to survive. I had been taken out of college by my parents to “fix” myself. I was already dealing with suicidal urges. No longer thoughts at this point, they had morphed into the urges from high school. I couldn’t figure out how to cope with the guilt and attempts at religious reeducation happening from my parents while stuck at home.

The problem was that I didn’t feel guilty about liking women. On the contrary, liking girls was the only thing that felt natural. Normal even. Forcing myself back into a religion I wasn’t sure I could or wanted to belong to and then trying to reprogram myself was where the pain was. The only time I felt guilty was whenever my mom would burst into tears about how I could do this to them or when my sister blamed me for causing my parents’ depressions.

I’m a people pleaser to my core. I seek out approval from others and morph myself to fit their illusions and expectations of me. By starting to play The Game, I discovered that doing so would tear me apart. I would need to shove down who I was in order to fit into a mold that would no longer cause strife for my family.

I would become a human chameleon at the risk of my own self-destruction just to make them happy. Because, by making them happy, I could learn to be happy. What I did was entirely for the sake of protecting my family from me. I learned that they couldn’t understand or love me for who I am. If I wanted to be a part of my family, even if it was for only just a little bit longer, I had to play The Game.

This led to the initial set of Rules:

\- **No gay anything.** They had a nose for sniffing anything gay out, and I was fairly certain Dad looked at my Internet history. Years later, I found out I was right. No gay.

\- **You have two Wardrobes: The Nighttime and The Daytime.** While these technically weren’t restricted to just nighttime or daytime, the meaning was clear. I wore one part of my wardrobe around my family. The other, smaller set of clothes I wore when no one was around. The Nighttime Wardrobe became my lifeline.

\- **You’re religious now.** My personal thoughts on God and Christianity were put on hold. While at Their place, Their God was your God. You can internally disagree with what they said all you want as long as you keep it to yourself.

\- **Just go with it.** If they suggest conversion therapy, say okay but never bring it up again. In that moment, you tell them exactly what they want to hear. It keeps them pacified, and they tended not to bring it up again. You won’t have to go, but somehow it sounds like you’re agreeing with them.

\- **Behave.** Act exactly like the goody two-shoes you were in high school. Never complain about doing chores around the house. Laugh easily. Be bubbly. Get excited. Talk with them about things happening in your life. You know the drill. This sets them at ease by thinking you’re still “that little girl” they knew you’d find again. Manipulative, yes. But do you really want Mom crying and Dad screaming at you again? No. I didn’t think so.

\- **Trust No One.** You trusted your sister with some sensitive information, and it got thrown back in your face by your parents. There are no secrets with them, which means your Secret is never safe. Always think before speaking.

\- **Be prepared.** Whether this meant to be prepared for Dad’s unpredictable moods or having an escape plan ready, you knew that life could change again at the drop of a hat. Know the locations for all military branches’ recruiting centers. Have a university lined up for the Fall semester. Get a part-time job to save a little cash. You know the drill. Just be ready for it. Always be five steps ahead.

I know how paranoid this all sounds, but I knew I needed to be careful. I was learning how to lead a double life, and I had a lot to learn about how to be successful with that.

I also knew that at any point in time I could use one of two ways to dip out of this situation: military or suicide. I was never hospitalized and the therapist never formally gave me a medical diagnosis to put on my record. I could get away with either one. The second I knew I was ready to give up on my family I would do one or the other.

I’m a selfish person. I want to have my cake and eat it too – or whatever that stupid cliché is. It really doesn’t make sense, but colloquially we all get what it’s trying to hint at. I wanted both worlds. I wanted to be openly with a woman and happy while also still with my family. I vowed to make it work for as long as I could.

And for six years, I did.

**4 – The Game: Round One**

Okay, maybe not Round One. It was a chain of events like the Chameleon Olympics of the Human World where we all danced around the so-called “issue” at hand until it was so far back in the recesses of my family’s memory that they almost didn’t event remember it was a thing. Let’s start at the first Event.

I was nineteen and newly out. I was also nineteen and now newly back in the closet. It went like this:

After a rough end of the semester and a need to run away, I ended up landing my first job offer with the Walt Disney Company as one of their College Program Interns. First job offer being the key part of that.

At nineteen, I didn’t have the same support group that I would have come Round Two. I’d only just figured the beginning of things out. I’d barely had enough courage to go to the LGBT Center’s National Coming Out Day table in Appalachian State University’s student union to grab an ally button – not even an out and proud button. That’s how scared I was. Only a small handful of people knew about my attraction to women, and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as I could.

I was scared.

I was scared, and that prevented me from making a support group. Support group, chosen family, quamily (queer family) – it doesn’t matter what you call it. We all know how vital this is to our mental and physical well-being.

Because, if I’d had the support group I had for Round Two, I have a pretty strong feeling that many things would’ve gone differently. By not having that solid group of support, I crumpled under the pressure from my family.

I’m not a brave person. I’m not a coward. I’m a people pleaser that learned how to be strategic. Confrontation and familial pressure are two things that still make my chest seize in a way that brings be back to being a five-year-old in trouble and knowing that I was going to be yelled at and get the spanking stick.

And no, you pervs, not like that. The kind where you would sit on your bed, the pit of your stomach gnawing on itself and up your throat, and tighten when Mom or Dad came in the room with a rubber paddle or long stick and you knew it was going to hurt to sit down for a while. That kind of spanking. Typically preceded earlier in the day by someone yelling.

 _That_ kind of biting feeling in your stomach. To this day I still don’t do well if someone yells at me. I’m also the world’s worst arguer to the point where I can’t come up with a decent response until it’s been around 24-hours or so. It’s even more useless when I’m under pressure.

So, there I am as a nineteen-year-old with parents crying and yelling and not talking to me. I have very little contact with my friends since it’s Christmas Break. It was probably the most uncomfortable Christmases I’ve ever had. Everything was forced. Dad wouldn’t look at me or smile or laugh or be normal. Mom tried. She really did. My older sister was angry. My younger brother didn’t really know what to do – he was a seventeen-year-old senior in high school.

Somehow we all survive until the holidays are over. I still have not been able to come up with a response to my parents. That is, until one night I realize that I can help them understand where I’m coming from by doing the one thing I’m relatively good at.

I wrote them a letter.

Nothing crazy. I just explained how everything happened and how, looking back, so many things made sense now that I understood and had words for what I had felt at those times. I told them about how I would play doctor with my female friends in kindergarten. I explained how there had been other instances of these feelings for other girls throughout my life – I just hadn’t realized what they meant. Like Dora in seventh grade and Lucy when I was a freshman in high school.

How could I have known? I was sheltered. I didn’t even know that girls were an option until eighth grade when I met Alexa. Alexa, the girl who’d come out to me as bi in my school’s dance class causing Mom to freak out and pull me out of there and into Spanish. That instance wasn’t attraction in the romantic sense as I came to understand more about community. I’d wanted to know her more because I had found someone similar – though I wouldn’t know why for years.

As I wrote my personal story out for them, I felt so much better. The dam that I’d kept sealed shut because I was so scared of being rejected finally let loose. When I was done, I was so drained that I fell asleep almost immediately after leaving it on my dad’s desk.

I waited anxiously for their responses back. I waited for weeks. They never said anything. It wasn’t until years later that I found out they’d read it but never done anything with it. They called it a lie. My own personal deception that I allowed myself to believe. That it wasn’t really me. That they knew who the real me was, and that someday I’d find that girl again too.

I stopped giving them my side of the story after that.

Which was definitely the wrong response. But, at nineteen, I didn’t think there was anything I could say or do to get them to listen or consider another perspective. So, going quiet it was.

Soon after that, I gave up my internship with Disney to stay home. I could feel the expectations oozing off of my family to stay home. I could either “run away to live that lifestyle,” as my mother put it, or I could stay home and fix my relationship with my parents and God. I knew what they wanted me to choose.

So, I chose to stay home, delay my dream of working for Disney, and “fix” myself.

Let me be clear before I go on, religion can fix many things. You can find a way out of addiction, healing for past emotional wounds, freedom from whatever guilt you feel you deserve – anything really. When any religion is followed non-religiously, you can and will find the peace you’re searching for.

But being gay is not one of those things. Being trans is not one of those things. Being bi is not one of those things. Being any part of the LGBT+ community is not one of those things. You are not broken. You are not scorned by whatever deity you follow. You are not condemned for being who you are. God, Allah, G-d, the Buddha, Ganesh, or whoever it is you follow did not make a mistake by making you you. So, if someone of whatever religion it is tells you that you are going to hell or whatever for it, know this:

Your personal walk with your religious/philosophical belief is between you and your God. Not you, that person, and your God. Just you and your God. That’s it.

But I digress.

I chose to stay home. As a people pleaser, I wanted to get back into my family’s favor and feel accepted. I went to church, I got involved with people from their college group, did whatever Bible studies my parents pushed towards me (I did lose interest in a few and, while they didn’t like my loss of attention, they saw it as trying), and actually did try to stop liking women.

As anyone that has tried the pray-the-gay-away method can tell you, it doesn’t work. Which is how we reach our Second Event and its Aftermath. Mom and Dad trust me enough at this point to go on a spring break vacation with my older sister to Puerto Rico. Granted, this was a huge step for them, and they probably only did let me go because my sister would be there to keep an eye on me.

We had a great time. I’d felt like things were going well and that “the gay was gone.” That was, until I met Rachel.

Rachel was a woman in her late thirties who ran a recording studio that happened to be on vacation that week in our complex. My sister and I met her while we were at the pool one morning, and I went weak. She was incredible. She was gorgeous, smart, confident.

I couldn’t get enough time with her.

She also introduced me to her friend Talia, a trans woman. I’d never met anyone trans before. Honestly, I don’t think I even knew it was a thing. So sheltered, I know. But remember this for later on.

The Incident that caused Event Two happened that week as a result of Rachel, Talia, and my sister. I’d wanted a bit more time with Rachel, and she was already planning on coming to the beach with us that day. However, we didn’t have enough room in our car for all five of us in our group plus Rachel and possibly Talia. So, I volunteered to ride with them.

My sister said I needed to ride with her, but I refused. We were all going to the same place. What difference did it make?

So, I rode with Rachel. Talia ended up not going with us. The week goes on, and we come home.

I completely forgot about this incident until one morning my dad wakes me up yelling at me. My heart and stomach were in my throat as he roared on about how he had expected this behavior (unwisely separating from the group with a stranger) from anyone else, not me. But he’d never thought I would be the one to do it. And with a woman I didn’t know and a freak (his opinion on trans people)? How could I betray his trust like that?

He asked if I’d _liked_ Rachel. I stuttered out the best half-truth I could that I thought she was really cool and I admired how many awesome things she’d done in her life. I made it sound like one of those awed and inspired type of things so he’d at least stop yelling.

Which semi-worked, but he was still livid about me hanging out with Talia. I grabbed my laptop and some spare clothes. I made my way down to the library, my refuge then and now, and called my best friend at the time, Nicole.

She met me as quickly as she could (she was on Spring Break that week from App State). We spent the day back at her place watching Disney movies. My younger brother had a track meet that night. I had told him I would go to every meet that I could while I was home, and I wasn’t about to start missing them then. I stayed on the opposite side of the track as my parents. Cheered for my brother. Said hey to my mom. Was ignored by my dad. Nicole and I ended up back at her place.

She offered to let me stay with her and her parents for as long as I needed to, but my gut told me to go home. So, at 10pm that night, I let myself back into my parents’ house and head to their room. I hugged my dad goodnight and told him I loved him. Then, I went to bed. I decided that, from that day forward, trust no one would be my top priority. I’d trusted my sister to be… well, my sister. To keep my secrets and do what any sibling I thought would do. I was wrong.

Another quick side note: Nicole and Naomi, if you ever read this, I am so sorry for dropping off the face of the Earth. You both did so much and were so supportive after I told you that I liked girls. And what did I do? I listened to my mom and stopped talking to you both. Just so I could get her and Dad’s approval again. You guys didn’t deserve that. So, I’m sorry, and thank you, for everything at the same time.

After that, I came up with a new plan. The rules for the Game were reset. I would become two different people with different lives and even different wardrobes. I was committed. I applied to UNC Wilmington and got in. I made a new life for myself and started a double life. I made a deal with myself that I would only come out again for the right girl after I was done with school and had a steady, stable job.

I followed this pact, more or less, to the best of my abilities. However, the Aftermath for and during Round One was more unexpected than for Round Two.

**5 – Round One: The Aftermath**

Because of my rigid set of Rules, I soon discovered how difficult life could be while leading two very separate lives. These lives could not, in any way, touch unless I was absolutely certain they would not impact each other in any way. These Rules affected life in every way, but in three main areas in particular: my wardrobe, my friends/relationships, and my education.

When it came to my wardrobe, I really did have two separate sets of clothing with some tiny places of overlap. My one set were my everyday, not around my family clothes. These consisted of men’s sweaters, shirts, shorts, boxer briefs, and button ups (including the stereotypical flannel). I wore these around campus and Wilmington. I bought them whenever I could and only when buying other things with them so that I wouldn’t arose suspicion on my credit/debit card statements which my parents still had access to see.

For example, I would buy a button up or boxer briefs when I needed them but only if I was getting groceries at the same time. Basically, I was an avid Target shopper. Still am, if I’m being honest. Best nerdy and affordable boxers around.

However, whenever I went home, the boxer briefs, men’s shorts, etc. stayed in Wilmington. I brought out my skinny jeans, girls’ shirts, and attempted some makeup to compensate. I still kept my wallet as it was – a black Tommy Hilfiger bifold – but my family didn’t put up too much of a protest about that. Don’t get me wrong, they didn’t like it. They let me know about that for sure. But, they didn’t push.

I never cut my hair short during this time either. I asked one time about it, but my mom’s ironic response was “Are you trying to look like a boy or a lesbian?”

I had no honest response I could give back to that since the real answer was YES. I just stayed quiet and got my hair trimmed instead.

There was a small area of my wardrobe that could overlap which was nice. You see, I love _Star Wars_. I love anime. I love Marvel and Image graphic novels. I had plenty of t-shirts of characters in those stories that my family would laugh and shake their heads at whenever I wore them. I was their nerdy child. My parents loved _Star Wars_ too. How could they not be okay with me wearing a shirt with the Millennium Falcon on it?

They also conceded when I proved to them that men’s graphic tees for nerdy things are light years better than any in the women’s section. They also let my love of Vans shoes slide since most of the Star Wars ones were in men’s sizes, and I have wide feet. They just fit better.

In their own way, they had their own version of the Game they were playing.

However, I knew that there would be absolutely no give in the friends and relationships area of the Game. Most of my friends knew about my attraction to women, but I never brought them around my family until they understood the consequences of them letting something slip around my parents. Once they reached that point though, most of them didn’t want to be around them. They were more worried about it than I was.

The same rigidity was applied to the people I dated as well. While I knew it bothered them that we couldn’t post it on Facebook or that they had to be introduced as my friend, I stayed firm about being cautious. I had a firm line that had to be respected, or they had to go.

None of my relationships really ended well. My paranoia was too much or they didn’t like not being recognized. I could never really seem to get across to them that I was excited to be with them and proud to date them. But I do understand that can also be seen as being ashamed of who I am and who they were too.

In a way, they were right. I shoved down who I was because I was so preoccupied with my public image and keeping my family that I trampled over their emotions too. So, I’m sorry about that.

However, there were a few that pushed that line too far and put too much pressure on me. Those relationships, friends and dating, were the ones I had to make the decision to cut. One of these relationships was with Tish.

Now, Tish was a very interesting individual to begin with. We met through Tumblr and just happened to both be from Apex. We met up in person a week or so later, slept together, and started dating shortly after.

It was a disaster. She had some serious issues and I did too. Looking back, I have no idea how or why we stayed together. She’d even set the relationship on a timer by saying that, by the time we had dated for a year, I had to tell my parents we were together or she’d break up with me. I respect the boundary she drew because of her own self-respect. But, let me be clear, if is never up to your partner to determine when you come out. It’s not something that should be decided by anyone other than you. Don’t be a dick. Don’t pressure people. If they aren’t ready or are in an unstable environment, don’t you dare tell someone they have to do anything. That’s their call.

By then end of it all, it was such an unhealthy relationship that we both strongly disliked each other. I couldn’t put up with her yelling and hitting and mental abuse. She couldn’t put up with me being weak and not standing up to my parents.

She had to get out of my life.

Tish, I hope you’re happily with someone out of the closet now and have gotten some help. We were both assholes to each other. I should’ve been stronger and cut things off with you earlier. I’m not going to apologize for anything else beyond that though. You really were a dick, and you should’ve been kinder to your parents. They’re incredible people, and they fucking support you even after all the hell you put them through.

ANYWAYS.

While Tish was the most extreme case, there were plenty of other friends I had to slowly move away from during Round One. I’m sorry to each of you. It wasn’t anything you did. I was selfish and scared. My actions were wrong. I hope all of you are doing great things.

There were plenty of incredible people in the LGBT+ community and allies that did stick around though. Friends that soon became the unshakeable quamily I’d needed the first time around. People I could go get ice cream with at the drop of a hat, help get me over my fear of heights through rock climbing, go see Marvel movies with or explain why I should sympathize with Kylo Ren. So to all of these people, thank you. You know who you are.

And to all of you out there who are still closeted, find these kinds of people. While we can’t choose our biological family, we can choose these people. Your chosen quamily will be there through everything.

Beyond my weird social life dynamics, the third area surprised me. Why would my education be somewhere I had to have a double life? Easy. I was an English Literature major with a Studio Art minor.

Both departments are LIBERAL in every sense of those capital letters. Thankfully, I could be myself there and grow. But I couldn’t tell my parents half of the things we talked about in class or about some of the papers I wrote.

I thrived in my studies. I wrote about the use of a “beard” in _The Secret of the Nightingale Palace_ by Dana Sachs and was recognized by my professor for it. I learned about Queer and Gender Performance Theory in my Literary Criticism class. I discussed homoeroticism and repression in Franz Kafka’s works.

I just couldn’t tell my family any of this. They had finally started to treat me normally again by this point. I couldn’t lose all of my progress now. I was playing successfully. I had learned how to blend in so seamlessly, say all the right words to deflect any doubt while also not lying that there weren’t any reproachful looks. No sad glances. The Game was easier. I was still beyond paranoid, but it was working. I was successfully being who I wanted to be and learning what I wanted to learn.

But, more importantly than almost beating the Game, I found people that supported me as me. People that were religious and non-religious alike. I also started understanding myself.

Because, during this time, I began to understand that sexuality and gender are not the same thing. I realized, and eventually accepted, that I’m trans.

**6 – Round Two: Graduate School**

I went to Disney after getting the internship a second time and figured out that I got the wrong degree. I realized that I wanted practical training for writing and decided to get my Master’s in English, Science and Medical Writing.

I was exhausted. I’d been playing the Game for four years by this point. I can only joke so much about when I’m getting a boyfriend; smile politely when my grandmother says how pretty I would look in a dress over and over again. It gets to the point where you start to hate yourself. It wears you down until you feel like a shell of who you know you are.

If you’ve played your own version of The Game too, you know what I mean. You already struggle with what you see in the mirror to begin with thanks to dysphoria, but now you’re also struggling with how you’re willingly doing this to yourself. You put up with the “you’re such a pretty girl” comments. You smile and pretend to be flattered when someone says how you should wear makeup more often. The comments on how you should wear your newly shortened hair.

Hair that took you the past five years to work up the courage to cut to match your gender identity. Hair that isn’t supposed to look “cute” or “flattering.”

I’m not trying to victimize myself here. I don’t want your pity. No one in this kind of situation does. What I want is for you to understand how we live our lives. The concept of our Game, the Rules we make for ourselves to pass and survive – they aren’t glamorous. They aren’t some thing we want put on a pedestal to exhibit our struggle for everyone to ogle at and tell us how brave we are.

We want a world where this stupid Game isn’t necessary to begin with. It never should’ve been. In nature, where some people like to try and claim we wouldn’t survive, it’s the ones who adapt the best that survive. Yes, an animal that is homosexual does not reproduce, but that doesn’t mean they’re against nature or whatever bullshit you might try to say. They’re just doing their thing. Fuck off. The animal survives because they adapt to their environment.

We do that too.

So, in Round Two, the Game does not go as planned or as smoothly as Round One. Round Two is where the two separate worlds finally collide.

I started graduate school dating someone. It’s after this someone breaks things off with me that things finally start to shift. That is the exact moment where the stress I’ve put my mind and body under finally catch up with me. I wound up in the hospital with these massive, mysterious welt-sized hives that kept reappearing. My mom is worried that my anxiety will be too much or that I’ll get suicidal again.

So, I get a kitten. Best decision thus far. Animals are the best therapists save for my most recent one, who actually talked with me.

Life starts to improve, but I stop trying so hard to keep the two worlds separate. I stop wearing dresses and skirts entirely. My hair is finally short. I pass off and on as a guy in public. I wear entirely men’s clothing (still make it more feminine around my parents and siblings though). I bind my chest. I have friends, allies, and other trans people that love me for who I am.

When you reach that final stage in your Game, you discover that you’re going to have to make a choice. How much longer do you want to keep this up? How much more of this can you take before you break? You’ve done a great job, kid. Hats off to you. You made it farther than you ever dreamed possible. But has it been worth it? Has everything or everyone you’ve sacrificed to get to this point really been worth your time? Your energy? Is this really what you wanted? Or, did you just make things worse? Did you just prolong the inevitable?

Or, my favorite question: Where do we go from here?

I still don’t have the answer to that, but I can tell you what went on during that final year of The Game.

As time went on, I stopped hiding things less and less. Granted, I still didn’t wear all men’s clothing in front of family or swear or mention that I had started really looking into Taoism. That would _really_ be pushing my luck.

I met my partner, Imogen. We met during both of our first week at a radio station where I had my graduate fellowship. She was a volunteer that worked one of the front desk shifts. I was the social media and web services fellow that was supposed to be training her.

My goodness. She’s beautiful. And yes, we’re talking in real time now because she still is absolutely _gorgeous_.

On that note, I’m a very awkward person if I like you. Especially if I’m trying to talk to you. I have to plan _exactly_ what I’m going to say and prepare myself. In her case, I would log in to my computer and then go get water from the office kitchen. My route to the kitchen just happened to go right past her desk. For the longest time, it was all I could do just to say hey and ask how she was doing. Making conversation with me was probably excruciatingly painful for her.

Then came the day that I noticed her working on a sheet of music at the desk. Turns out, she’s a composer. A film composer, actually. She was working on a bassoon arrangement for a competition.

Praise be.

As an ex-marching band kid, that was something I could have a conversation about. I’d found my conversational opening.

We started out by talking about music – her music and the subject in general. I learned that she got her degree in music composition and her instrument of choice was the bassoon (her initial piece made me sense to me now). She had also interned at the station while in high school by helping the producer in charge of classical music in the mornings. Everyone at the station loves her. Another one of my coworkers loved her because she knew about Imogen’s dream to score films – but also because she would help me set up chairs for the Friday afternoon free classical music concerts.

The story of the two of us begins after one of these concerts. I’d had a rough morning. I was venting to my best friend, Myra, about things and had finally started talking to her about being trans. She was so understanding and laughed because she had wondered when I was going to tell her. Most of my friends tended to figure out these things long before I did but let me figure it out on my own before saying anything.

Imogen helped me set up chairs after this, and the two of us started talking about books. She loved science fiction and fantasy novels – I got super excited about this because, hey, me too. After the chairs were set up and we were waiting for the concert to start, I noticed that she chose a seat in the back row by the door. I was sitting closer to the front and off to the side with another graduate fellow. I called her over and teased her about how she didn’t have to sit alone. She smiled and came over.

We chatted while the room filled. The concert started, and I filmed the live stream. After the concert finished, I quickly stole back into my office and shut the door. The gallery was always super noisy after these events, and I couldn’t concentrate on my afternoon work. I’d just finished disassembling the iPad and tripod when a knock came at my door. Thinking it was my manager, I yelled, “Come in!”

Imogen slipped quietly into my office and shut the door. I’m pretty sure I leapt out of my chair.

“I was wondering,” she said, my face was so warm by then. “If maybe you’d want to hang out outside of work sometime.”

Okay, my voice gets ridiculously loud when I’m excited. So, I’m also pretty sure I yelled, “Oh my god, yeah! That’d be awesome. Let me get your number.”

A few dates later, it’s Valentine’s Day. She leaves a gift at my office door. I make her a card based on the graphic novel _Nimona_ , her comfort book. A couple weeks after that we’re dating and – let me tell you – she’s the best person to ever be in my life.

True to LGBT style, by our third date she heard my story as we lay under stars on the beach. She met my quamily soon after and, a bit after that I got to meet her parents. She even got to meet my parents too as my “friend,” and we spent the afternoon secretly testing our luck by holding hand behind their backs. Crazy enough, she even knew months before we were dating that I was trans even though I never said a word about it at work.

But how does all of this connect to the Game? You wonder.

Imogen adapted quickly to play The Game flawlessly. For example, she would even change out of the pjs I would lend her any time my parents would stop by to make it look like she hadn’t spent the night.

It also has everything to do with the end of The End.

I told you. I’m exhausted. By now, I just want to be free and happy and have a job with a steady income.

Imogen entering my life started that. I didn’t want to hide anymore. She inspired me. She encouraged me. She accepted me as me. And I love her with every bit of me. I support and want to give her the same encouragement she gives me every single day. She is my best friend and my partner. We had decided to try to move to LA after my lease was up in August so she would be in a better area for networking as a film composer. She’d planned to go all along, but asked me to come with her in April. Of course I said yes. I then had to figure out how to tell my parents about the move and my partner. I knew the time had come, and I was ready.

The Game ended on June 9, 2018. I knew my parents were coming down to visit and belatedly celebrate my birthday that day. But, I was out of toilet paper and Imogen is vegan. We walked to the grocery store by my house while holding hands and playing Pokémon Go. My parents never showed up at my apartment after saying they were fifteen minutes away. I texted them asking where they were. My mom texted back, asking me to join them in the parking lot of a local Tex-Mex place nearby. Alone.

My stomach in my throat, I walked over. They asked what the nature of my relationship with Imogen was, and I told them. She’s my girlfriend.

To be honest, I don’t remember much of the conversation. Dad yelled. Mom sobbed. It was almost an exact repeat of the first time. It was numbing. I don’t remember getting back. I know I walked back to my apartment. Imogen was waiting. All I remember is going to my couch and sitting down. I told her they knew and that they’d decided to go home instead. They couldn’t be around me any more that day.

The next thing I recall was waking up in my bed, asleep on Imogen’s chest. My roommate was talking to her quietly. He wanted to know if I was okay. I think I’d texted him saying the beach day with my parents was off because they found out about Elise and me.

I don’t remember much from that week. I was numb. The week ended with a formal request from my dad asking me to meet him and mom at my sister and her husband’s home to talk. I went.

The conversation started out how I expected it to. They thought I was past this. God doesn’t tolerate sin – especially this kind. How could he put the family’s reputation at stake like this? How could I tarnish my good name? His good name? He felt like a fool because everyone seemed to know but him.

Mom explained how I was being deceitful and that my actions were wrong. She said that I should’ve been honest about my temptation and that they never got to be able to say what they wanted to since they were too scared of what I would do to myself.

I have to agree that I was being deceiving. I should’ve acted differently and been up front about everything from the start. Never let them think they’d “fixed” me.

Plus, I’ve known their opinions from the start. They made plenty of comments and jabs at people in the news or media about things that were LGBT+ related – or even remotely left-leaning for that matter. There was a reason I didn’t feel comfortable to speak.

However, that was when the conversation then took a turn that I wasn’t expecting. Dad said that I was to move back in with them after my lease was up in order to “fix this severe character flaw.” I was also expected to “cease acting on my feelings” at once and stop my relationship with Imogen. I was allowed to be “best friends” with her, but nothing more than that. They couldn’t seem to understand why I wanted to do anything other than just be friends with a girl and that it would be easy for me to just be friends with her.

I wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. I knew that there would be no agreeing to conversion therapy on my end this time. I wasn’t going to give mixed signals that I could and would change. I tried to explain it by saying, “Why can’t you and mom just be best friends then?”

“Because your father is my best friend.”

I don’t think the irony of that statement hit anyone else but me. Imogen is my best friend too. But she’s also my partner. I have other best friends – some of which are women – but I don’t want to do the things I do with Imogen with them. There’s a difference.

I still cannot understand why they take my life so personally, but I left that meeting already shifting back into my Game mentality. I’d been free of it for a couple of months. I dressed how I wanted to. Make my opinions known.

But I still ended up silenced.

I didn’t end up moving to LA with Imogen. Not because of my parents this time, but because it’s actually the most expensive city on the fucking planet. I couldn’t afford to stay. We still went on our cross-country road trip starting on the day my lease ended. It was absolutely incredible, and I know for a fact that I’m going to marry her one day.

As for now, the Game is back on. I’m back at home and waiting anxiously to find a job. For the third time, I’m back in the closet. I hold back my opinions. I go along with things. I change my clothes. I blend in.

And I am exhausted.

That’s why I wrote this… thing? I don’t really know what to call this. I just needed to be able to let it all out. To know that I’m not crazy for doing this. To state that, no. I’m not a victim. I don’t have a “victim mentality,” or whatever my family would try and call this. This is me speaking. Actually saying what I wanted to say to them. I’m allowed to disagree. You’re allowed to disagree too, by the way.

I guess I’m writing this for you too. So you can know that you aren’t crazy too. You’re playing your Game however you have to play it until the day comes where you don’t have to anymore. I know how exhausting it is. I’m sorry you’re stuck doing it too. But you can do this. You can make it through this.

You’re not a victim.

You’re a chameleon. Don’t let anyone try to talk down to you or guilt trip you for not being open or yourself. This feels horrible, temporarily suspending your own values to satisfy the standards of whoever is around you. You don’t want to live this way, but you willingly do this to make life work.

Take care of yourself, okay? Do your self-care.

I do mine. I keep my binder and men’s clothing hidden in my room. I take them out at night and wear them. I look in the mirror and, even though it’s only for a little while, I see me. I feel confidence come back when I see the guy staring back at me.

You know what your methods are. Do them. Things will get better. They always do.

Taoists use water as an analogy for things, and it’s helped me understand things. Think of the tide. Sometimes is rushes in and life full and fantastic, but it naturally goes back out. It keeps things balanced that way. Life works like that too.

Bad times happen. It’s a cycle. So, be patient. Wait it out.

It’s going to be okay. Really, it is. Wait for the tide to come back in. It always does.


End file.
